


Ocean Eyes

by buckymcboingboing



Series: Bellarke [1]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Canon Character Deaths Mentioned, EMT!Clarke, Endgame Bellamy Blake/Clarke Griffin, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Exgang!Bellamy, Explicit Language, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt Bellamy, Hurt Clarke, Hurt/Comfort, Injured!Bellamy, Light Angst, Multi, POV Bellamy Blake, POV Clarke, Romantic Fluff, biker!Clarke, very loosely lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-11
Updated: 2018-08-11
Packaged: 2019-06-26 03:42:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15655062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/buckymcboingboing/pseuds/buckymcboingboing
Summary: Modern AU where Injured!Bellamy meets an equally gruff EMT/Biker!Clarke at a lone stoplight. Hurt/Comfort. Light Angst/Hella Fluff. Like, so much fluff it might knock them out of character, but I needed it for my sanity...<3-A





	Ocean Eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ilovenutella99](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ilovenutella99/gifts).



The breath left her like a wish that she wanted to share with everyone. That was just it, though. There was no one. She could be fine with that. A few simple sentences lingered in the back of her mind, _You can stop pretending. You know it hurts._ It sounded unmistakably like Wells. Another person gone. Zipping down the lonely road in the middle of cut-down wheat fields and over bridges that stood aloof trickling streams, she chewed her lip. The frustration was suffocating inside the black helmet her father gave her before...She shook it out of her head. At the memory, she lifted a precise, meticulous hand and traced the little copper crown he had carved into the dark paint.

The sun had since disappeared in the clouds or the horizon—She didn’t care. She just wanted to keep riding. She was about to turn on her high beams when a dark truck appeared out of nowhere behind her. Well, it could have been there for a long time. After all, she was on another planet for the past few minutes. She practically growled at it because now she had to act like there were other human beings on Earth. A small voice, a warning that almost sounded like her overbearing mother, whispered, _It’s not their fault that you want revenge on fate._ She muttered to herself, _It’s their fault if I damn want it to be._

Whether the sun had officially dropped behind the landscape, or it dropped further into dark clouds, all Clarke realized was that it became immeasurably darker. _Hmm, matches my mood anyways._

The looming truck still behind her, she huffed. She started wishing it would just pass her like every other asshole in Hicksville. Whether that was because she wanted to hate the world in its entirety or flip someone off or to be alone again, she couldn’t pick just one single reason. She just wanted it all gone. So, she tried waving it past or slowing down to piss them off, but they just started to get the memo when they slowed down. She flipped back around in her seat to see a small, twinkling intersection in the middle of the fields that surrounded her.

_Ah shit! Why the hell is that even there? They’ll have the most complicated, busiest four-ways in the world, but a damn red light in the middle of a field, a relaxing country road? Seriously fuck it all._

A small squeak came from outside her helmet and she looked over to see the damn truck beside her. Her first instinct was to believe that the bureaucracy was royally fucked when they let people that young and reckless drive. The first time she actually got a glimpse of him that thought was so wrong her breath caught. _No, this… This is a fucking man._

The red light filtered in through his windshield, casting shadows and a red tint across his cheekbones and the closed eyelids that gave way to some of the longest lashes she’d ever seen on a man. _Well, natural lashes_ , she chuckled darkly until she realized how creepy it was to laugh at her inner dialogue during a lonesome stoplight with a stranger.

She snuck another look at him, his silent _reverie? Relief?_ It was haunting. He was beautiful and it was all so quiet and there was no sound other than simple crickets in the woods they came from.

_God, I must be fucking lonely to check out—Holy shit. Was that—_

“Sir,” her voice scratched out. He shifted to see her and she was trying to recover from her shock. The light that slipped onto his face illuminated fresh cuts that carved into his skin.

“What, princess?” He practically growled.

She gaped at the sudden rumble. Her jaw snapped shut at his jab involving her father’s helmet decor. Grating her teeth, she pressed on, “I don’t know what your problem is. I just thought you’d need some medical attention.”

“We’re in the middle of nowhere, sweetheart.” He smirked _or winced_ in the dim lighting as he fully turned towards her.

“Quit the names,” she rasped back. Looking up at the light for an excuse to breathe again, “I’m an EMT. You need anything?"

“Shit, Princess,” he huffed in a dry laugh. “You’re just gonna...What? Stitch a random dude up in the middle of the street?”

“Don’t be a dramatic asshole,” she snapped. Looking down at the gravel between them, she shrugged, “But yeah.”

His chuckle reverberated through his open window and filled her helmet. _What I’d give to hear that again._ The sweet sound was abruptly cut short with his pained hiss. _Shit, I’ve got it bad, don’t I?_

“Why?” He gasped out.

“Why what? Why the hell are you asking? You want to just sit here and bleed? Or get infected?” Her incredulous expression would have been hilarious in any other situation.

His total annoyance emanated from the truck window as he slowly ground out, “Prin-cess.” The blood was staining his teeth and must have made it immensely difficult to speak. It was his turn to be incredulous, “Why the hell would you want to clean up a stranger’s blood?” His growl eventually melted into a whisper, “Wh-what if I got something... or... I’d hurt you?”

Trying to avoid the soft chocolate of his eyes, she shook her head, “See? You’re asking that shit so you’re obviously not going to hurt me, especially…” She added on with a small smirk, “Especially ‘cuz I’d take you down before you did.”

He visibly retreated and her breath caught.

“Well,” she baited him, trying to pull him from the shadows of his truck. He raised his eyebrow, waiting for her coming words, “You ‘got something’?”

He paused. She was about to reiterate, _In your blood that could hurt me_ , when he eventually mumbled some words she barely heard.

“Nah, tested,” is all she could catch. His own internal monologue was racing, _Why the shit did I just tell her that?_ Miller’s calm, ridiculously patronizing voice called him on his bullshit, _So you can have sex with her later._

He white-knuckled the steering wheel and rambled with a voice that sounded beyond wrecked to even his own ears, “Ah, shit. It’s getting real dark and the light’s green now and well cool idea, I…” _Whose boobs look that good in a leather jacket? Shut up. You don’t fucking deserve a good lay anyhow. Plus, she’s way too good for shit like..._

She didn’t know what came over her, but she shut her engine off, rolled the wheels to the edge and propped the bike up on the kickstand in one fell swoop. Sighing in a braced relief, she nodded to herself, _Thank God there isn’t a damned curve at the edge of this gravel. It’s always so hard to fucking balance this ancient thing._ She tucked her helmet into her pack, releasing her soft, blonde waves, and looked over her shoulder. He hadn’t moved. It was his turn to be the gaping fool.

Still trying to figure out the reason _why_ she was doing this, she waltzed over and gave him a pointed look, complete with a raised brow. She almost faltered in her confidence when she saw the pools of emotion that were held captive in his eyes and all of his carved, sharp edges that were covered in the lightest of freckles, but she was stubborn and she held her ground... _no matter how hard I’m blushing right now because this man is too attractive for anyone’s well-being._

He looked at her with a confused awe until he dropped his head with a sigh that was far too broken for the rough man he had tried to portray on the exterior. He clenched his jaw with some sort of inner turmoil that she wanted to whisk away and at the same time, she noticed how the motion brought a totally unnecessary attention to how cut his jawline was. Her breath hitched and she forced her lonely brain to focus.

He waved her away for a moment and she tried to ignore the clawing feeling of rejection that was slowly wrecking her. However, he turned the bigger vehicle off the other side of the spacious lane, pulled his keys out and shrugged. _What now?_

She breathed a sigh of relief too big for her lean frame, one she didn’t know she was holding. The tumultuous questions started to bombard her. _Why do I even care?_ Her eyes raked up and down his figure. _How could a man look like such a fucking Greek god and also look like a kicked puppy at the same time? This isn’t fair._ She bit her lip as his eyes seemed to dance over her curves as well. Everything became too warm. All this leather or something. _Why am I acting like a middle schooler? Yes, he just checked me out, right? Why can’t I move?_ She kicked herself inwardly, _C’mon, Clarke, if you don’t snap out of it and help the man, you really don’t care in the first place._

Blood dribbled from the side of his mouth and he quickly wiped it with his worn jacket’s sleeve. The dark, sticky stain grew larger, spreading darker thoughts within his mind. He remembered when he was cold, when the only shifts available were at midnight and 2am, when he didn’t have the rusty piece of junk he drove now, when the snow fell and Octavia was hungry. The sound of gravel turning to dust under a heavy heal grounded him in reality again. He lifted his eyes to see the blonde strands bouncing and falling over the expensive leather that was draped over her shoulders as she thumped away from him, her biking boots spraying dust behind her in a thin, light, cartoonish cloud. He was a bit spellbound until he realized she was walking away from him. Huffing a dry, self-depreciative laugh, he realized what had happened, _Of course she would. A princess like that. She’d be the one to pretend to patch me up just to get me off her damn tail on her joyride. I probably had it coming with the way that I was driving. When will I goddamn learn?_ His eyes shifted to the stones splayed underneath his old sneakers, he sniffed, tasted the metallic red iron in his mouth, rolled his shoulders back and turned to get into his truck again.

But she was already there. In front of him.

Her hands flitted over his torso, quickly cataloguing each grimace and wince. His mouth was parted in the slow revelation, _She didn’t leave._ When her hands found his face, she was so close, her soft breathing— _was that mint?_ —made a stubborn curl on his forehead flutter. He didn’t want to give this girl any ideas, but he couldn’t seem to break away. It was intoxicating, the small piece of universe between them crackled with electricity and it hadn’t ever felt like that with anyone. He just wanted to stay there for a bit, before it all ended. _Before she leaves too._

Her lips quivered as she saw the deep slices into the skin and all of the deep purple bruises blooming underneath his olive tone. The tips of her fingers felt like they were burning from the feel of him and after she knew where to clean and stitch, her eyes met his and she swallowed. His dark orbs were emanating such a severe intensity of an emotion—An emotion she was afraid to place. She was held captive in his stare, immovable, and she knew she should be terrified of him—This man who could snap her in half, was covered in so much blood he looked like a bad horror movie extra, and his eyes silently promising something she wasn’t sure she was ready to hear. However, she felt irrationally safe, like no one could hurt her again and she was in control. _Maybe that’s what he’s promising._ She tried to shake off his gaze and all of her overwhelming thoughts when he swallowed, forcing his Adam’s apple to bobb ever so slightly. _Maybe he felt it, too._

She grabbed a sterilized, packaged needle from her work go-bag, prepared the surgical suture, and his eyes grew wide in something akin to a dark fear until he forced his chin to jut towards the rain clouds in the distance. He was obviously holding onto the stoic pose so he didn’t crumble, but how much can a man take in a day?

Biting her lip in a practiced concentration, her deft fingers found the edges where his skin was split open on his angular cheekbone. Then, she slid the needle in and out and his grimace grew. Her other hand held the skin in place and by the end of it, she admired some of her closest, neatest work.

Slipping her hand into the bag again, she pulled out some Vaseline and gently massaged it over the sore cheek. She steadied him with her other hand so he couldn’t jerk away. She continued the **totally standard** procedure, _Clarke, admit it to yourself. Seriously, you just want an excuse to cup the man’s face in your hands._

He struggled not to lean against her touch, but he was doomed when she didn’t stop in time for his self control to hold on. His eyes fluttered shut and he leaned into the palm steadying the cleaner side of his face. Her brain immediately added in, _His assailant must have been right-handed._ Trying not to think of someone striking this patient, she swallowed a choking noise.  _After all, when was the last time someone simply took care of him?_

 _Oh shit. I’m projecting, aren’t I?_ She looked up at him, his features were in a place of small reverie, a vulnerable peace, and it was the first time she could actually see _him_. Not just parts of him—his calloused hands, the broad shoulders, the cuts or the curls. She could see another human being, who was struggling like her, but found a minuscule piece of serenity. She wasn’t going to lie to herself: She needed this as much as him.

He nosed against her delicate hand gently. He froze and his throughts raced, _What the hell? I didn’t just do that. Please tell me I didn’t just nuzzle the hot lady’s palm. It was fucking soft, but holy hell… Please tell me I didn’t do that. Where’d all my game go? I’m not that much of an idiot, am I?_ His eyes flew open to meet hers in his realization.

She looked up at him with a impossibly soft gaze and her lips curled up at the edge as she smirked lightly. She couldn’t push the smirk off of her face,  _He’s a goddamn puppy._ He seemed so incredulously thrown by the situation that it took all of her might not to giggle at his own frozen state.

“I…” His eyes darted back and forth, screaming his inner turmoil, but it just made it all the funnier. This rather formidable, incredibly-built asshole was stumbling over his words in a seizing terror. The new stitches making a track down his face, his mouth gaping open in horror, and his hands tight against his sides like a nervous middle school boy was all too much for the blonde.

She giggled softly behind the hand that she had since pulled from his face. Her laughter turned slightly hysterical, whether due to lack of sleep or lack of laughter she didn't know. All she knew at the moment was she had to stop, which ended in her snorting—and she immediately shared his initial embarrassment. She looked up to see that the intensity in his glass shade of brown, although almost hidden under his mop of unruly curls, was indeed still there, but with a delicate balance of amusement, twisting his mouth into a cocksure smirk.

“Oh, I see how it is,” he continued with a overdramatic smugness that she had only before seen on Wells when he won a chess game. “You take dudes to the side of the road, stitch ‘em up, then stand there and just laugh at them.”

That did not help her stop giggling, but, eventually, she just shook her head at his antics. Whenever he got her to laugh more, his smirk morphed into something beautifully genuine. His lips would part and it was a wistfully gorgeous smile, teeth peeking out under his rather full lips. Those eyes, however, were a different story, wide in shock and overflowing with some kind of celestial wonderment. They wouldn't stop promising something that she couldn't place, but she could definitely feel and the warm feeling wrapped around her, like a blanket her father used to drape over her shoulders.

She felt the warmth leave for a moment. Looking up at him, she saw the white patch on top of the stitches had a wet tear track. His jaw was pointed back in the direction of the nearby thunderstorm and he sniffed quietly. She wanted to reach out and touch him again, but if he'd just been this mercilessly beaten, that idea was a delicate one.

His jaw snapped shut again as he brought his dark maple spheres down to meet her stormy sea, “Why?”

She was startled, the sheer amount of emotion pouring out of the broken man almost destroyed her and it felt like the jagged windows to his soul were driving daggers into her heart as she stood there. She didn't want to mess this up. Was he asking her a rhetorical question?

He continued, “Why did you do this?” She reminded herself to breathe during his soft, direct interrogation. “What—” He swallowed slowly, gaining his raspier tone from before. “What's in this for you?”

Her jaw loosened and the silence hung in the air, thrumming with an electrifying, tense anticipation. He turned away for a moment, as if he was afraid to reach out and ask again. Slowly rebuilding her own footing, she confidently glided towards him, placing a feathery light touch on his shoulder.

He stiffened instantly at the tender caress and she lifted her gaze into his, “You needed it.”

He huffed, throwing his shoulders back and brushing her hand off. She lied to herself to say that the rejection didn't hurt and that her hand didn't ache for his as soon as it had touched hers.

“No, no, no,” his voice cracked against his will as he kept his back to her. “Nobody does that.”

Suddenly, his heel turned in the stones and he was once again in her face, but this time he was shaking with anger. “I'm not your goddamn charity case. Look, Princess, I hope this helped your soul,” he snarled, jabbing his finger into the air. “But you don't get to do that. You don't get to act like you care. When... When you don't even know what it takes. So what do you really want, Princess? Do I need to give you a damn parade? What do you want?”

His rant faltered when the one tear she'd been holding in slipped out the corner of her eye. Nails digging into her fists, she kept trying not to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. For a moment, he seemed at a loss for words.

He immediately softened as his hands reached out to her shoulders with a whisper, “Hey, hey. I'm...I'm an asshole, alright? Just don't lie to me, okay? What do you want from me?”

Her confusion outweighed her feelings. A sorrowful sort of horror began to etch into her delicate features as he continued to rasp out quietly, “What can I give you? I don't have much, okay… I just… What do you need?”

She choked as her throat tried to close up and his hands dropped from her shoulders, giving her a slight shiver at the loss of warmth. “You,” she barely whispered. Her own brain was scoffing at her,  _God, I sound pathetic._

He swallowed, looking away as if he had already figured and nodded in resignation, “Where do you want me?”

“WHAT. No!” She pushed him away to finally have some personal space.

The confusion was now more than evident in his face, warring with weary exasperation, “Princess, what do you want?”

She gritted her teeth in frustration and threw her hands up in the air, “I _said_ , ‘I want you.’ I want somebody. Everybody leaves. I can't… I can't…”

Her weeping shook her to the core, her shoulders heaving and her eyes squeezed shut as a torrent fell. Arms like a furnace closed in around her and gently lowered her into his lap. She didn't know whether she wanted to hug him or kiss him or push him away. So, she just stayed. Her tears soaked the ratty old jacket and his mouth found her hairline, pressing into her honey-colored waves. His one arm drew light circles on her back and she fully slouched into his embrace.

A car zipped by all of the sudden, snapping her out of the calming trance. She tried to escape and release him of his pity, but he kept rubbing circles onto her back. She looked up at him and she chuckled incredulously, “I swear I don't do this often.”

He smirked, albeit ruefully, “Me neither, Princess.”

The fond tone that enveloped the nasty nickname struck a chord within her and she staunchly fought herself, refusing to cry on the poor stranger again. When she felt him shift, she gazed up at him the same moment that he leaned down and proceeded to give her a faint, soothing kiss on the forehead. She was about to break into a smile when he pushed his gaze back down to the ground. Only then did she realize what a precarious position they were in. She had accidentally straddled him and he couldn't really move away on his knees.

She jumped back like she was burned, giving him an easy escape, but he didn't move, his shoulders just wilted, mumbling out, “You made up your mind yet?”

Her eyes grew wide and her lips met in a firm line, she was furious, “I meant what I said.”

He still looked at the ground, kneeling there, emanating defeat.

“You needed it.”

His head flipped up and a few curls bounced away from his face. That wasn't the answer he was expecting. She almost chuckled darkly to herself, _Godammit, do men ever listen the first time I say something?_

He was shaking his head in a frenzied worry, “I can't. I don't have any money. I…”

She grew even more frustrated at his antics, “Are you serious?! I said you needed it. So—”

“I _deserved_ it, so why would I let you—”

“Who told you you deserved this?” She demanded, rage rolling off of her in waves.

“I did. You don't understand… I got her boyfriend killed.”

She pursed her lips together. She needed to get all the pieces of the puzzle, but she didn’t want to force it out of the woeful man. So, she held back from firing every question that was rattling around in her skull. He seemed to sense her dilemma and broke the silence.

“He… My… My gang leader wanted the people to fall under his protection again.”

Clarke felt like the wind got knocked out of her, _A gang!? Way to go, Clarke. You think you know people. You trust them too easily._ She felt like she should start walking backwards or run away like her mother's voice was screaming at her to do. But her feet were rooted. She needed to know why.

“I wasn't proud of it, but if they just went along with it… Everyone would've been fine… My sister would've been safe.”

She tried to swallow back her oncoming tears and nodded. She couldn’t believe she actually understood this turn of events, _Yeah, I'd protect Wells, too, even if it was a gang._ He continued, launching into the complex narrative to try to justify his wounds. 

“Well, at least, I _thought_ that and then they shot Kane and I wanted to help, but they tied me up and Li—and Lincoln sacrificed himself, trying to get free from Pike. Pike died anyway and the gang's done, but…”

“Lincoln's the boyfriend?”

“Was my sister's.”

Then the revelation dawned on her, “You still didn't say who did this to you.”

He looked up, his eyes steel, underneath his contrasting, soft mop of hair, “I don't need to. Now you know why shouldn't have fixed me up.”

“Like hell I shouldn't have. I patch up who I damn well want to. You didn't fucking do anything.”

“Yeah, I know," he nodded, still sitting dejectedly on the asphalt. "I know I should have done something,” he fiddled with the end of his sleeves.

“YOU TRIED,” she almost screeched, trying to fight against his thoughts for him. Her own mind was losing it’s calculated cool,  _I swear, he's twenty times more frustrating and blockheaded when he's being a good guy, not being that asshole._

“It doesn't fucking matter. I didn't do shit.”

She paused, pinching the bridge of her nose and leaning on her one hip, “You still didn't tell—”

He looked up at her and she looked down into his eyes, her breath left her lungs entirely. He couldn't live like this. She replayed the story under her eyelids. He _had_ to have told her at some point in the story. He had to—

“Your sister.”

He wouldn't meet her eyes. She saw a water droplet tumble down his jaw and hit his hand.

“No, no,” Clarke's bottom lip quivered. “Hey,” she was about to lean down and wrap him up in her arms to return the favor. That wasn't exactly a hardship, the man was an amazing hugger and she was almost in his lap at just the thought of another human being’s touch.

However, before she could do any of that, he just leaned into her where she was. Her hands flew to his curls and tried to replicate the soft circles he gave her. It felt strangely natural, like they weren't in the middle of nowhere as strangers. His jaw cut into her soft stomach, but he was so warm. She really didn't want to care about a person again, not like this. Everything just happened. He did need it, but... she needed it, too.

He looked up at her, checking if she was okay. She then realized her circles had stopped when she was silently thinking. Without thinking any further, she grasped his jacket and brought him up to her. Burrowing herself into his shoulder, he got the memo immediately.

After holding on for far too long, Clarke stepped back. His pensive look wasn't exactly encouraging and she worried about what exactly is okay after hearing someone was beaten by their sister.

“You said that they leave.”

Incredulous, Clarke snapped back into reality.

“You said, ‘Everyone leaves.’” He clocked his head to the side and followed by simply saying, as if it was plain as day, “Who died?”

Alarm bells went off in her head, _Am I really that fucking transparent or does he have some hold over my thoughts?_

She was no match to a direct questioning in her state of mind and blurted out, “My dad. Then, it was Wells. And Finn just left, then he…” She swallowed, gaining her voice back, “He died a year ago today.”

His mouth held only apologies, but he remembered when his mom left, when he didn't want to hear any of that. Pity just drove him to hopelessness.

“I'm fine,” she bit out, probably seeing the pity he tried to disguise.

Curling her into his chest, she melted into his solid frame. He couldn’t keep his fingers from entangling in her gold waterfall. His lips found the top of her head again and it felt like falling into a soft mattress, it felt like relief.

“You don't have to be,” he whispered. She leaned back to look him in the eyes. He mourned the loss of her touch, but he wasn't complaining too much about being locked under her gunmetal orbs. He needed her to hear it, “You don’t have to be fine.”

She smiled sheepishly and his heart hurt. Pushing out of his arms slowly, her shyness switched into a devious smirk, “You too.”

He grinned back and shrugged, “Whatever ya say, Princess.”

“Hey, I'm serious,” she pushed a finger into his chest while desperately trying not to let her inevitable grin overtake her focused frown. “I'm serious.”

When she looked up at him in the silence, her eyes were drawn to the inky-black curls swirling around his face that lead her gaze to his full mouth gently parted in shock. His eyes were boring holes into hers, still promising something with everything he had and making it impossible for her to stay in a smooth rhythm with such a deep, but confused affection rolling off of him in waves. It was like he still couldn't understand her, but he would search to the ends of the earth to experience it fully.

She swallowed and before she could think twice, threw her arms around him for a brief squeeze. His arms swept her up after a moment and he grasped onto her like she was someone precious.

She was about to hop on her bike when he called out, across the road, “What's your name, Princess?”

“Getting tired of the nickname?” She taunted, afraid to reveal anything and desperately trying to hold onto the belief that she could still hide from this man.

He shook his head, grinning. “I'm calling you that until the day I die.”

She paused, key in her ignition. She couldn't breathe, the words burning her from the inside out, _‘Til the day he…_

“Name’s Bellamy,” he said, trying to appear as nonchalant as possible. However, on the inside, he was losing it, _Did I really just admit to her I wouldn't forget her… I lose all of my cool with this blonde._

She swallowed, getting rid of the frog in her throat. She smirked and mimicked, “Name’s Clarke.”

He slammed the rickety door to his old pickup, “Sounds sharp, Explorer.”

“Oh, no,” she leaned over her bike with a dramatic sigh. “Is that the new ‘Princess’?”

“Nah, you'll always be ‘Princess.’” The truck’s engine turned over and he drove through the red light.

She swore her heart stopped, _Was his goal to make heart stop everytime he spoke or do I just stop functioning normally when he's around?_ She revved up her bike to catch up with the assho— _Bellamy. Yes! I remember his name! That never happens._

The light still might have been red at that point, but all she cared about was seeing his face for one last time—even if that's all she got.

They met at the next red stoplight, onto a bigger road, and he jumped out of his truck with a piece of paper as soon as his pickup was parked. He handed it to her, shuffling a little like a nervous high schooler. His number was scrawled on it. “If you want,” he said quickly. Her returning, full-blown smile shone through the night sky.

He couldn’t breathe with that smile directed at him, _Wait, are her teeth green? Oh shit, the light’s green._

He took all of her in, just in case it was the last time. Her waves were now spilling out of her helmet and her pupils were blown, with a splash of pale blue around their edges. They seemed to sparkle with amusement as her smile twitched into a snarky grin.

He couldn't seem to wipe the smile off of his face, no matter how many people would yell or honk or scowl at the delay. He felt like he could breathe again.

After all, he would willfully drown in her ocean eyes as long as she would let him.

_-A_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it! All the love and hope to you, fellow Bellarkers, we’re in this together.  
> I’d love to hear you!


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